


Unbecoming of Royalty

by QueenNeehola



Category: Dragon Quest Series, Dragon Quest XI
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Banter, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Creampie, Dirty Talk, Dragon Quest XI Act II Spoilers, Established Relationship, Gratuitous Smut, Hero | Luminary is Named Eleven | El (Dragon Quest XI), Humor, Idiots in Love, Kissing, Lap Sex, Large Cock, Love Bites, M/M, Married Couple, Neck Kissing, No Refractory Period, Not Wearing Underwear, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Royalty, Sexual Humor, Smut, Throne Sex, Undressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:20:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22198471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenNeehola/pseuds/QueenNeehola
Summary: Eleven sat down hard in the throne, feeling with awe along its intricately crafted, cushioned arms.“This is the first time I’ve actually sat here,” he admitted.Erik, on his knees before him, nudged his legs apart to shuffle between them.  He ran slow hands up Eleven’s thighs to knead at the divots of his hips, delighting in how he shifted tellingly underneath the touch.  “And this is how you plan to break it in?”Sometimes being the prince is hard, what with long meetings, having to deal with self-important old men, and your incredibly hot husband feeling you up under a table and whispering dirty ideas into your ear.Thankfully, Erik is a man of his word, and Eleven has some ideas of his own about just how andwherehe can keep to his promise...
Relationships: Camus | Erik/Hero | Luminary (Dragon Quest XI)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 98





	Unbecoming of Royalty

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is set post-act 3: to summarise, eleven has reclaimed his title as prince of dundrasil and married erik, and they now live together in the rebuilt castle (with rab + some staff) while the rest of dundrasil is reconstructed around them. i don't _think_ there are any particular act 3 spoilers, but i've looked over this fic so many times i might just be blind to them, oops. there are definitely some mentions of act 2 happenings, though!
> 
> (yes, the title _is_ a stupid play on words. unbe **coming**...)

Giggling wasn’t exactly becoming of royalty. Neither was sprinting through the castle halls, but that didn’t stop Eleven or Erik from doing just that. Their feet thundered along the plush carpet, their breath coming in staccato pants through laughing lips as Eleven pulled his husband along by the hand.

They had been in meetings all day - well, Eleven had, but Erik had insisted on coming with, if only to amuse him by sending him subtle glances when the representative from Heliodor wouldn’t stop droning on and on about how best to juggle the material costs of Dundrasil’s ongoing reconstruction.

“As if he’s ever lifted anything heavier than a quill in his life,” Erik had boldly leaned into Eleven to whisper into his ear, sending a murmur around the table and a laugh to Eleven’s lips that he barely managed to stop in time. “C’mon, let’s just blow this joint. ...And then maybe I can blow something else.”

Eleven cleared his throat, feeling a dozen eyes fix on the rapidly rising heat in his face. “E-Erik says,” he spluttered, “that he agrees whole-heartedly with your ideas, Lord Feldspar.”

Feldspar - a wizened old soul who had been on Carnelian’s team of advisors for longer than anyone could care to remember, and who held an apparent dislike for anyone under the age of forty - narrowed his eyes. “Can the boy not speak for himself?”

Eleven felt Erik tense instantly, saw from the corner of his eye how his playful smile had darkened into something resembling legitimate hatred. Erik disliked Feldspar as much as Feldspar disliked him, and Eleven knew, as his muscles coiled into tight angry springs beneath his skin, that he was about to show it. Loudly.

He placed a hand on Erik’s knee. It seemed to placate him a small amount.

“My Lord,” Eleven said, with all commanding firmness that his position allowed, “I will have you refer to my husband with the respect he is due, if you please.”

That placated Erik a _lot_ , especially when Feldspar began to splutter, words failing him and his eyes widening until his pupils were just small black pinpricks in a sea of yellow-white. He had the same gormless look to him as a slime, Erik thought. And then he thought that was an unfair comparison; he had known some pretty decent slimes in his life, after all.

“I-I apologise, Your Highness,” Feldspar said eventually, bowing his head. All eyes had turned to him now, and he shrank under the discomfort of their weight. When he looked to Eleven again, his expression had lost its haughty self-importance. He had realised he was not the one in charge here. “I simply meant that...that Lord Erik should feel free to voice his opinions without restraint.”

That wasn’t what he had meant at all, and everyone at the table knew it. What only Eleven knew, however, was that Erik should absolutely _not_ feel free to voice his opinions without restraint, especially when most of his current opinions no doubt included an array of colourful new titles for Feldspar, none of which would be flattering.

Erik opened his mouth. Eleven squeezed his knee. He spoke anyway. “I appreciate your concern, _my Lord_ ,” and Yggdrasil above, the sarcasm was _potent_ , “but I am merely here to observe and learn. Please, don’t let me interrupt.”

He waved a blasé hand and settled back in his seat. After a moment, the atmosphere settled with him, and the people around the table began to chatter again, returning to the previous topics of discussion (although this time, Feldspar was quieter).

Eleven barely heard them. Because now, Erik had brushed away the grip on his knee to slide his own hand under the table and along Eleven’s thigh instead, fingers fluttering dangerously towards the inside of his leg. Eleven sucked in a gasp and shot an incredulous look at him. He just smirked back, but his smile had the sharp, dangerous edge of a secret to it.

Eleven dismissed the meeting early, on the reasoning that it had stretched on too long with too little progress being made. The actual reason was that Erik had never stopped caressing his thigh, slowly stroking closer and closer to what he no doubt wanted as his ultimate prize.

That, and his whispered words still echoed in Eleven’s head, thrumming like a tolling bell through every inch of him.

“ _Maybe I can blow something else_.”

Erik barely had time to put on his pretend polite persona again to say his goodbyes before Eleven was curling burning fingers around his wrist and pulling. Manners be damned, apparently.

* * *

They pushed through the doors to the throne room as one. It was only then that they stopped, Eleven dropping Erik’s hand to instead hunch forward, bracing himself on his knees and sucking in a few deep, manic breaths.

Erik laughed, but it came out just as breathless. “Tired already? Cushy living has ruined you.”

Eleven tilted his head to look at him, and Erik almost forgot how to breathe altogether. Dressed in soft greens trimmed with gold, he looked every inch the picture of royalty, but that wasn’t what had taken the air straight from Erik’s lungs. It wasn’t even the way his hair - longer now, and Erik loved running his fingers through the silken strands - sagged loose in the braid Erik had done for him that morning to hang like threads of bronze around his ears and across his shoulder, or how his cheeks were tinted pink that shone under the high chandeliers.

It was how his eyes had gone dark with unmistakable _lust_ that really got to Erik. It was the way he slowly straightened up, never once looking away. It was how as he breached the short distance between them, Erik could feel himself sinking into the abyssal depths of his gaze, like submerging himself in molten lava. It was how that heat carried to Eleven’s skin too, his touch lighting fires along the back of Erik’s neck as he cradled his head, drawing him in to press a white-hot kiss against his mouth. It was how Erik melted under him, his lips parting easily to let himself be taken by the flames, too.

Eleven’s mouth traced the shape of Erik’s jaw while his hands held firm to his narrow hips, pinning their bodies together. Erik was putty in his hands, shaping himself to fit against Eleven perfectly. His head tipped back to allow the brush of lips over his neck, searching with small kisses until they found his pulse point. The scrape of teeth made the vein jump beneath his skin; the pressure of Eleven sucking on it had it hammering out a fast, excited rhythm, enough to make pleasant dizziness blur Erik’s edges already.

The knock on the doors behind them was like a rap against Erik’s skull, sending the shattered crystalline pieces of his concentration spinning until they reformed into something resembling awareness, shaky and splintering and unwelcome but there anyway.

He hastily shoved at Eleven’s shoulders. Eleven dislodged from his neck with a wet pop, his lips red and enticing, and Erik could already feel the stinging bruise of a hickey forming.

They both looked at the doors. Wide, arched doubles that didn’t lock conventionally but were instead inscribed with sealing runes (Rab had insisted - anyone could pick a lock, he had said, looking not so subtly at Erik, but not just anyone could break a sealing spell). They weren’t active, though, and neither had the thick, steel-reinforced bar that served as a back-up security measure been slid into place. 

The door was entirely unlocked, which meant that whoever was standing on the other side could have easily walked in on the prince of Dundrasil sucking his ownership into his husband’s neck in the quiet sanctity of the royal throne room.

Maybe there was something to be said for manners after all, Erik thought.

Eleven apparently thought otherwise, as he wound his arm around Erik’s waist again, leaning in with half-lidded eyes.

“Ignore them,” he whispered close to Erik’s ear. The sound travelled all the way down his spine, taking a shiver with it.

A new crack lodged itself in Erik’s ability to think rationally. “It might be important, El, we should at least—”

The intruder knocked again, as if in agreement.

Eleven rolled his eyes. “ _Fine_ ,” he relented, shoving Erik aside dramatically. “But you hide. You already look like you’ve had a run-in with one of those Lips monsters, and I don’t have the energy for the looks I get when people find out I’m not the virginal prince they thought I was.”

“Oh, and whose fault is that?” Erik quipped back, but he obediently sank into the shadow of one of the great pillars on either side of the doors.

Eleven hazarded a final glance at his hiding place - it was simple but effective, and Erik was so good at being invisible when he wanted to that Eleven wouldn’t have known he was there at all if not for the taste of his skin still lingering there on his tongue, too recent and distinct to be anything but real.

He straightened his shoulders, ran a hand over his hair and cracked the door open.

And then threw it wider, barely concealing a sigh. 

“Yes?” he asked. (Erik noted with a quiet glee the weary impatience lining his words.) “Can I help you?”

“Um, Y-Your Highness,” said a timid voice, and Eleven looked down upon the attendant—a mere teenager, really, skinny and awkward in their Heliodorian robes. They looked down too under the weight of his gaze, to their trembling, wringing hands. “L-L-Lord Feldspar was wishing to speak to you, to—to apologise properly for his, um, earlier grievance.”

Eleven could imagine hearing the crack of Erik’s jaw as he ground his teeth at the mention of that name. He barely covered his smirk with a neutral expression in time as the attendant finally garnered enough courage to look at him.

“I’m busy this evening,” Eleven said, “but perhaps tomorrow we can—”

“Oh, I-I’m afraid Lord Feldspar is returning to Heliodor tomorrow,” the attendant cut in. Clearly, they hadn’t received any lessons about not talking over princes, but then neither had their master. “He insists that you—”

Their eyes moving almost imperceptibly off to Eleven’s left was all the warning he got before a hand landed on his shoulder, making him jump. But the grip was familiar, and he let himself be manoeuvred so that his husband could shove brazenly into the doorway as well.

“Tell _Lord Feldspar_ ,” Erik said, with a thick, honey-sweet contempt, “that Prince Eleven has something far more important to do than attend a pointless evening chat with an old skeleton who only cares for the sound of his own voice. Got it?”

He stepped forward, cracking his knuckles in a menacing display that was entirely for show, tilted his head in a way that showed off the shining, crimson mark Eleven had left on the side of his throat and gave a smile that was more teeth than anything else. Eleven suppressed a small shudder, though it wasn’t one borne of fear.

The attendant squeaked, “Y-Yes sir!” and fled at once without looking back.

“Erik,” Eleven chided. “That wasn’t very nice.”

“What? It’s true.” Erik shrugged, hustling Eleven back inside the room proper and nudging the door closed. This time, he slotted the bar firmly into place, and turned back to Eleven with the same predatory grin stretching across his lips. “I _am_ more important.”

* * *

They kissed their way into the centre of the room, barely managing a few hasty, faltering steps at a time before they fell into one another again in a silly, love-drunk dance. Erik made it even more so, spinning and dipping Eleven until he was giggling madly into his mouth, shaking with mirth under the hands that held his back steady.

Erik pulled away eventually. They were both out of breath again. Eleven was warm against Erik’s touch even through his layers of fancy clothing. 

“Wait here a sec,” he said, and then he drifted away, slipping out of Eleven’s grip as easily as water through his fingers, his feet carrying him in a hasty quickstep across the vast room again. 

At the edge of the room he reached for and turned a knob set into the wall, and the lights dimmed to a cosy glow. He gestured theatrically, a silent “how’s that?” 

Eleven gave him a thumbs-up in response.

And then he was back in Eleven’s arms again like he’d never been away, kissing him with such fervour that it forced him back a step, and then another, as if he was collapsing under the sheer force of Erik’s affections.

He did, literally, a few moments later, when his heel caught the base of the stairs that led up to the throne and he lost his balance completely. He fell with a yelp, scrambling for purchase against the only other thing nearby to grab - Erik. He dragged his poor husband down with him, first landing hard on his rear and then having the air driven from his lungs as Erik’s knee crashed into his stomach. He barely had time to wheeze before their heads clunked together, and the dull thud seemed to echo around the otherwise silent room.

“Oof,” complained Eleven.

“Shit,” Erik agreed.

They looked at each other, both wincing...and then burst into a fit of giggles again.

* * *

“Are you okay?” Eleven asked once they’d calmed down, running careful fingers over Erik’s forehead. There was a distinct red mark where they’d collided, and he flinched as Eleven pressed lightly against it.

“I’m gonna have a bump there tomorrow,” Erik groaned. “I can’t believe it didn’t hurt you at all. I swear your head is made out of rocks.”

Eleven’s lips curled upwards. “Everyone will be calling you Lord Egghead instead of Lord Erik.”

Erik tried for a glare, but it fell away before it could even form properly when he felt soft pulses of healing magic surround his injury, encasing it in a soothing coolness. Eleven had never truly been gifted in the magical arts save for his lightning spells, but he’d been practising more under Rab’s tutelage of late, and it showed in how Erik sighed into the touch, leaning forward when moments before he’d been pulling away.

When the spell faded, so had the throbbing heat in his forehead, and when Eleven touched his own forehead to Erik’s there was no pain at all.

“Better?” he asked.

Erik nodded, the movement carrying between them and forcing Eleven’s head to bob as well. “Now I won’t be an egghead after all.”

Eleven’s next exhale was a soft laugh, ghosting warm air across Erik’s lips that made the thin skin tingle. It was tempting to close the scant distance between them and kiss him again, to shove him back against the plush carpeted steps and tear him out of his velvety suit, gilded trimmings and all. It wasn’t like he couldn’t afford a new one.

“Now,” Erik said, and if Eleven’s breath was soft and light then his came out all rough, hard edges, “I believe we were discussing whose fault it was that you’re not a chaste, sweet, untouched prince?”

Eleven’s laugh solidified properly at that, bursting out of him in a high, sharp giggle. He pulled back and away from Erik, leaning his hands out behind him on the step above the one they sat on. His eyes shone with amusement. 

“Oh, it’s the fault of a thief,” he said, tone airy with false dramatics. “The best thief in all of Erdrea, who stole every little bit of me. And now there’s none of me left that doesn’t belong to him.”

Erik’s heart promptly stuttered in his chest. Despite his words, Eleven’s smile was a slight, gentle thing, and Erik suddenly felt shy at having it directed right at him. He fidgeted, every rebuffal he thought of fading away under the brightness of that smile.

Eleven surged towards him again and stopped just a hair’s breadth away from their noses touching. There was nothing slight or gentle about his expression now; his smile had turned razor-sharp with intent and stretched across the whole of his face, half in shadow from the dim lighting. Whatever innocent persona the public had projected onto him, there was no trace of it to be found as he loomed before Erik, sultry and enticing.

“And I’ve heard,” he all but _purred_ , “that he’s just as good with his mouth as he is with his hands.”

* * *

Eleven sat down hard in the throne, feeling with awe along its intricately crafted, cushioned arms.

“This is the first time I’ve actually sat here,” he admitted.

Erik, on his knees before him, nudged his legs apart to shuffle between them. He ran slow hands up Eleven’s thighs to knead at the divots of his hips, delighting in how he shifted tellingly underneath the touch. “And this is how you plan to break it in?”

“No,” Eleven insisted, pouting and turning red. In a mere moment, he had lost all semblance of his seductive demeanour, reverting instead to the sweet, nervous excitement that he rarely showed around anyone but Erik - and even more rarely when they were still fully clothed. (Not that either of them intended to remain that way for very long.) “I just...wasn’t really thinking about where we were going, and then we ended up here, and I had an idea—”

Erik leaned up on his knees, stealing one of Eleven’s hands from where it gripped the throne’s arm to lay a reverent kiss across his knuckles.

“And it’s a great idea,” he said, tracing the shape of the Luminary mark with his lips. “Let me serve you, Your Majesty.”

“Don’t,” Eleven groaned, tipping his head to prop against the backrest. His expression soured into one of aggravation, brows furrowing. “I’m not king yet, I hate that.”

“Highness, then,” Erik tried.

“No.”

“My Lord?”

“ _Erik_ —”

“Eleven,” Erik hummed, and drew the hand that had been caressing Eleven’s hip down over the front of his crotch, and Eleven’s complaint sputtered and died on his tongue.

* * *

“Erik,” Eleven breathed, a hand winding further into the spikes of his husband’s hair. Erik still held the other, their fingers loosely intertwined across the bare softness of Eleven’s thigh. “E-Erik.”

Erik couldn’t rightly respond, given how his mouth was full of cock.

He hummed his reply, raising an eyebrow, but the vibrations that travelled from his throat up Eleven’s shaft rendered the prince wordless now too, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and pressing his head into the sturdy back of the throne. He tried to buck into the wet heat encompassing him, but Erik’s free hand on his hip pressed a bruising warning against the flesh, so he reluctantly stilled.

Erik pulled off with a final lick across the head. “You okay?” He received no response except a shuddering breath. He squeezed Eleven’s hand. “El, look at me.”

Eleven did, his eyes blinking open so languidly it could almost have been mistaken for drowsiness if not for the dark spheres of his pupils near eclipsing the soft blue hues Erik so adored.

“You okay?” Erik asked again.

Eleven nodded. “M’fine, don’t stop. It’s just...a lot.”

“A lot?” Erik questioned but followed the order anyway, nuzzling at Eleven’s cock first with his nose, then lips, light touches that didn’t do much except send tremors running through Eleven’s legs and smear Erik’s own saliva over his face.

“Yeah, it’s...it’s weird, kind of, sitting here. Like I’m tainting it, somehow.”

“It’s your throne,” Erik argued. He pressed a tender kiss to the tip that had Eleven squirming. “You can do whatever you want in it.”

His exhalations blew hot over the swollen head by his lips, and it twitched against his mouth, as if asking permission to be let back in.

“Including me,” Erik added, and swallowed Eleven’s cock and his reply both whole.

* * *

It didn’t take long after that. 

Erik could feel it in the way Eleven never looked away from him, gaze trained on the bob of his head and the hollow of his cheeks. He felt it in the rigidity that had taken root in Eleven’s entire body, winding him tight and preparing to let loose; the way he gripped his hand and hair alike and dug nails into his skin, the press of his legs against either side of Erik’s body, the taut line of his torso in the throne.

Erik pushed himself further, encouraging Eleven’s cock deeper towards the back of his tongue. He couldn’t take all of it - had never been able to - but the girth of it stretched his jaw into a pleasurable ache as he let Eleven guide the movements more, fucking his mouth a little rougher.

He watched intently and with a self-satisfied glee the moment that Eleven unravelled.

First came the split-second of his muscles locking, the flash of unbearable tension that crossed his face, jaw clenching and eyebrows drawing close together. 

And then, like pulling a loose thread, he came apart. 

Erik gently drew the strain out of him with the sweep of fingers along the inside of his thigh, and his hips rose up to meet that slick, irresistible warmth as he came. His quiet groan of release echoed up to the high ceiling of the throne room, reverberating through every speck of glass in the intricate chandeliers like they were holding the memory of this obscene act within them forever, like if someone tapped them they’d reflect the sound back, pitch-perfect and shameful.

His spend hit Erik’s tongue, the roof of his mouth, a few spurts making it as far as his tonsils, and Erik took all of it greedily, wrapping his free hand now around the base of Eleven’s cock and pumping towards himself, like he was trying to milk every drop from him.

When Eleven had gone slack and shivery, Erik drew back, letting his mouth hang open for a moment and watching as Eleven’s eyes travelled to it like they were drawn there, catching sight for the briefest of moments the coating of white over Erik’s tongue.

And then he swallowed. Eleven followed that, too, eyes fixed on the bob of his Adam’s apple before coming back up in time to catch the swipe of his tongue over his lips.

“Goddess, Erik,” Eleven sighed, slumping in his seat.

Erik just grinned up at him. “You don’t have to call me ‘Goddess,’ sweet.”

He barely dodged Eleven’s attempt to knee him in the chin.

* * *

“How was that, then, Your Highness?” Erik asked. 

In the aftermath of his orgasms Eleven always turned a special sort of soft and accommodating, and so he hadn’t objected when Erik had climbed up into the throne with him, sprawling awkwardly across his still naked lap. The space was obviously not made for two, so Erik was currently seated sideways with both of his legs swung over one of the armrests and his arms looped about Eleven’s shoulders. His fingers played with the stray hairs at Eleven’s neck, blunt nails scratching against the delicate skin there.

Eleven rolled his eyes, but a silly smile pulled at his lips. “I told you not to call me that.”

Erik didn’t respond, and instead nosed his way into the dip of Eleven’s neck, nudging past the awful high collar of his shirt to open his mouth against the skin and bite down gently, tongue sweeping out to taste him a moment later. It wasn’t fair if he was the only one with a hickey, now, was it?

* * *

How long they stayed that way became increasingly more difficult to tell. Erik could more easily count the number of marks he left across the expanse of Eleven’s throat than he could the seconds or minutes he spent leaving them there.

Or perhaps it had been hours. There was no real way to tell: there were no windows in the throne room by which to mark the passing of time, and if word of how that poor Heliodorian page had endured Erik’s impatient (and horny) wrath had spread then it was highly unlikely that anyone would come to bother them unless the castle itself was on fire. (And maybe even then it would give them pause.)

They could have very well remained that way all night had Eleven not made a very telling little noise and shifted in his seat in a way that made his cock slide against Erik’s leg.

...His cock. His _erect_ cock.

It hadn’t been _that_ long, surely.

Erik looked down at it, straining for attention, and then back up at Eleven. He raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

Eleven was already flushed, from arousal or the warmth of Erik’s body or both, but now he began to turn a deeper red. “Sorry, I just...I couldn’t stop thinking about what you said, about how I could do anything I want sitting here, i-including…”

“Including me?” Erik finished for him, and when he gave a small, shameful nod Erik grinned and kissed his cheek. He tightened his arms around Eleven’s neck, drawing him closer to murmur hotly against his ear. “Well? Do you want to?”

Eleven nodded again and Erik pulled back, rebalancing his weight so he could free one hand from where he held on. (He noted that as he did, one of Eleven’s arms automatically moved to wind securely around his waist and support him.) Hand now free, he leaned his head against Eleven’s shoulder and traced a line down the centre of his chest, following the path of gleaming buttons on his shirt down and deftly undoing them as he went. He bared Eleven’s stomach and ran his hand over it appreciatively - it was still solid with years of built-up muscle, but growing a little softer recently with all the deskwork and good food that came with being royalty in a time of peace. 

His fingers danced lower still, to where the once-pressed hem of Eleven’s shirt had been roughly untucked and wrinkled in his haste to get his trousers down to his ankles. His shirt now fully open, Erik pushed it aside, marvelling at all the skin he had so easily revealed. 

And finally, Erik wrapped his fingers around Eleven’s cock once more. With a painstaking slowness, he began to pump it, not putting enough pressure into the action to make it anything but a blatant tease.

He heard Eleven’s breath stammer and stumble in his throat, felt his heart drum harder and quicker in his chest where he was pressed against him. His stomach tensed, abs becoming more defined with the tightening of his muscles, and if Erik hadn’t had his other hand lost in the expanse of Eleven’s soft hair he’d surely have traced each one of them.

“I’ve always wondered,” he said, the smirk audible in his quiet voice, “is being able to get it up again so quickly a Luminary thing, or…?”

A lance of heat went through Eleven with such a force that Erik felt it, smiling into the sharp jut of his collarbone as he bucked against him.

“I-I don’t know,” Eleven admitted. His voice was adorably hoarse already, and when Erik shifted to be able to see his face he was watching the motion of Erik’s hand like he couldn’t look away, an embarrassed quaking to the line of his lips. But still, there was something else in his face, something in the quirk of his brows that looked like thoughtfulness, like he was genuinely considering the implications of Erik’s question.

Oh, he _was_ cute. 

Erik’s smile turned utterly wolfish, and he leaned up to nip at Eleven’s earlobe, relishing the shudder he raised from him when his teeth scraped against the sensitive flesh.

“Maybe we should test it out,” he suggested. His breath rolled hotly over Eleven’s ear. He thumbed the head of his cock with an agonizing lightness. “We’ve done two rounds before, how about we try for three? Or even four? See how much you can fill me up with your—”

“ _Erik_ ,” Eleven groaned. It sounded like a plea.

“Yes, love?” Erik stretched his legs out over the side of the throne. The motion was lazy and indulgent, a stark contrast to the painfully straight line of Eleven’s torso and the tremors that ran through it with every new nudge of Erik’s hand.

“Please.” Eleven tilted his head to the side, pressing his cheek against Erik’s nose and feeling the smug curve of lips against the skin a moment later. “P-Please let me fuck you.”

Erik made a thoughtful noise, as if he was actually ruminating over his answer. His fingers dragged slow down to the base of Eleven’s cock, creeping lower still to flutter over his balls. “I’d love to, since you asked so nicely, but did you bring any oils?”

Eleven pulled back from him all at once, head twisting to look at him with such force that his braid almost caught Erik square across the face. His expression was one of pure horror.

“No,” he said, and his voice was so small and defeated that Erik had to bite his tongue to stop himself laughing. It was a predicament that could easily be remedied - it would take no more than five minutes for Erik to sneak through the quiet halls to their room and back - but it seemed to Eleven to be such an irredeemable error on his part that Erik couldn’t resist leaning in and kissing the disappointment from his lips.

“Honestly,” he chided when they pulled apart, taking his hand off Eleven’s cock to instead reach inside his own jacket, “you were the one who dragged me in here so I could suck you off, couldn’t you at least come prepared just in case?”

Eleven’s cheeks burned, but Erik just kissed them again and removed his prize from an inside pocket (if there was one good thing about this stuffy formalwear, it was all the hidden pockets). He brandished the small bottle of oil as if it were a shining treasure he had just stolen and was itching to show off, and with how Eleven’s eyes went big and round at the sight of it, it might as well have been.

“You...had that on you the whole...time,” Eleven asked, or almost did, except his voice dipped lower on the final word to make it into a statement of fact rather than a question. Appalled yet unsurprised epiphany broke across his face. Of _course_ Erik had it on him.

“’Course I did,” Erik confirmed, pressing the bottle into Eleven’s free hand. He started to shimmy out of his top layers, wrestling the jacket from his arms and foregoing buttons altogether to just yank his shirt off over his head, almost belting Eleven across the nose with his close-quarters flailing. “I figured we’d both need some stress relief after listening to Feldspar drone on for six hours.”

“It was only three hours,” Eleven protested, wrinkling his nose. “And please don’t make me think about him when my dick is out.”

Erik snorted. He leaned close to press a kiss against the corner of Eleven’s downturned lips. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you something much better to think about.”

As expected, Eleven’s mouth twitched as he fought the impulse to smile at his husband’s silliness. “Oh, really? Like what?”

The question was redundant. Eleven’s cock twitched in anticipation. Erik reached down, as if making to touch him again, and Eleven held his breath, but the hand skimmed past to settle over Eleven’s instead, slender fingers playing with the stopper for the oil bottle. Erik smirked, eyes glinting dark and wild.

“You’ll see,” he said, and popped the cork.

* * *

Erik had to stand to get his trousers off, which was unfortunate, because he was rather enjoying his seat atop his husband’s thighs, gathered close and secure in his arms. It was more fortunate for said husband though, who took the opportunity to stretch his legs out, hearing his knees crack as he worked full feeling back into the limbs.

Erik turned his back, bending rather farther than was necessary - but also rather fetchingly - to shimmy the waistband down over his buttocks. As the material crested over the fine curve of his rear, exposing the skin beneath, Eleven allowed himself a moment to stare before he was distracted by Erik firing him a cheeky grin over his shoulder, and it was then that he realised something was...off. Or rather, that something had never been _on_.

“No underwear? Really?” Eleven asked, with the same vexed fondness as when he’d realised Erik’s tendency to apparently just carry lube around with him.

Erik kicked his trousers off from where they’d caught on his ankle and poked his tongue out between his teeth, utterly impudent as he climbed onto Eleven’s lap again. This time, they were facing each other, with Erik’s thin knees wedged into the small amount of space either side of the throne seat as he straddled his husband. He lowered himself slowly, settling his weight onto Eleven’s thighs again. Now both naked (or at least in Eleven’s case, naked on the half that mattered, and dishevelled enough on the other), their cocks poked distractingly between them, tips brushing just enough to set them shuddering in unison. 

Erik was hard too, Eleven noticed.

“Stupid outfits are too tight for underwear,” Erik replied and leaned in, slotting his mouth against Eleven’s. That was blatantly untrue, Eleven thought. Erik normally wore underwear. He should know; he was the one to strip him of it more often than not. What with this, how he had wound Eleven up enough to have him adjourn his meeting early, and his conveniently concealed oils - which were slowly warming in Eleven’s sweaty palm - Eleven was beginning to think that perhaps his dear little husband had _planned_ this.

But with how Erik was rubbing their tongues together and making such nice little noises into his mouth, he decided to keep his suspicions to himself. It was all working out pretty well for him too, anyway.

When they parted, they were both pleasantly flushed, panting against each other’s lips. Eleven’s head buzzed like he’d had a few glasses of Gallopolitan wine, but then he’d always gotten drunk off Erik too easily. And with how Erik was looking at him, sweetly arrogant bantering stripped away to reveal eyes that were hungry beneath their slowly blinking lids and teeth that pressed indents into his bottom lip, Eleven had a feeling he was faring much the same.

Erik canted his hips forward barely a fraction, but it was enough to slide their cocks together in the cramped space. Hot flesh met hot flesh, the friction sending a bolt of lightning through Eleven real enough that he felt static tingle in his fingertips.

He made a noise that was very unbecoming of a prince, and seized Erik around the waist.

“Whoa—” Erik yelped, startled at the sudden movement. With a strong arm easily pinning him across the small of his back, a palm sliding up the bumps of his spine to hold him more firmly, he found himself squashed against Eleven’s chest. With nowhere to really put his arms, he put them around Eleven’s neck again and rested his chin on Eleven’s shoulder. “Someone got impatient.”

“And _someone_ told me I could fuck them in my throne, if I want,” Eleven replied, the ragged edge to his voice lighting Erik hot from the inside out. “And I _do_ want.”

* * *

Eleven tipped some of the oil over his fingers. It was awkward, given that he was trying to balance Erik in his lap, and he was pretty sure he spilled some on the plush cushioning of the throne - and wasn’t _that_ going to be fun to explain to the maids when he asked them to clean something that had barely been installed two weeks - but eventually, his fingers were suitably coated in the warm liquid, and when he pressed one against Erik’s entrance and heard the way he gasped, tensing in Eleven’s hold, he promptly forgot his future embarrassment.

He pushed the first finger in slowly, feeling Erik’s arms tighten around his neck as he did. They’d already been close enough, but now Erik drew himself even closer still, his thin chest sliding against the larger expanse of Eleven’s. He tilted his head slightly and huffed a breath that hit warm across the slope of Eleven’s neck.

Eleven curled his finger, testing. Erik was tight - he was always tight, but they hadn’t had time to make slow, lazy love that morning before Eleven had been ushered into his first meeting and his husband had dutifully followed - so he set about working him gently open now. Erik shifted and sighed.

“Okay?” Eleven asked. They didn’t usually do it like this. Usually, Erik would be sprawled on his back before Eleven, legs spread wide so he could settle between them and tease him open for as long as they both could handle. (Or, sometimes, Erik would do it _himself_ , proudly putting on a show for his prince. Eleven very much enjoyed those times.)

“Okay,” Erik replied. He shifted again, and again their cocks slid together. Eleven felt the shudder that worked its way up his spine. “Put...put another one in.”

Eleven suppressed his own shudder at the breathiness in his husband’s voice. “Already?”

Erik pulled back then, to regard Eleven with a haughty grin. Or, Eleven assumed that had been his plan, but as he moved he forced Eleven’s finger deeper inside him, and so he made a sweet little noise of surprised pleasure instead, a flush lighting up his features in the same moment. He seemed to almost melt against Eleven then, only the arms propping him up stopping him from collapsing too far and turning Erik into Egghead for the second time that night. Eleven watched, fascinated, as Erik’s eyelashes fluttered for a moment before he took a breath and his gaze focused once more.

“I’m a big boy,” he said, but what he’d no doubt intended as a teasing boast now came out as a breathy little sigh. Still, there was heat in his eyes, burning like blue flame. “You’re not the only one who’s impatient.”

He smiled, nudging his hips forward, and this time Eleven felt the tackiness of pre drag over his cock.

Eleven matched his grin, and pushed in a second finger.

Erik didn’t even bother trying to keep up his act after that.

Eleven fingered him thoroughly and mercilessly, oiled digits sliding in and out and curling and pressing and _seeking_ in a way that had Erik erupting in shivers, quivering in his husband’s arms while Eleven kissed the noises from his mouth.

And Erik held on. It was a sweet little habit of his, Eleven thought - whenever they made love, Erik’s hands would reach out no matter their positioning, palm open and fingers grasping at thin air as if searching. Eleven always made sure he found what he was looking for; offering a hand, usually, or sometimes his shoulders, the back of his neck, his jaw for his darling husband to cradle. 

This time, Erik gripped at the back of Eleven’s collar hard enough that it probably would have choked him had his shirt not been open; his other hand fisted in the soft, fine strands of Eleven’s hair, working it ever more out of its braid.

Eleven squeezed back as best he could, pressing his palm firm against Erik’s spine, pushing their bodies - and their mouths - further together.

The third finger went in easily, and Erik broke the kiss to groan into the scant space between their lips instead. His grinded his hips down, demanding. Eleven complied with the silent order, plunging his fingers in as far as he could and delighting in how Erik opened up for him even as he clung tighter around his neck. Erik rocked against the digits, pushing his cock against Eleven’s with every slight movement he made. His head tipped towards Eleven like it was suddenly too heavy for him to hold up, and Eleven nosed forward to let his own forehead be the pillow for it.

This close, Erik was a beautiful unfocused haze of blush and blue, and heat. Such heat; his sticky forehead, the damp clouds of his breath, the sweat beginning to collect along his spine. He’d never fared well in hot climes, even ones of his own making, and it showed as he wilted to one side, wobbling carelessly in Eleven’s lap.

His cheek dragged across Eleven’s and down until he could settle his chin on Eleven’s shoulder. Eleven ceased the movements of his fingers except to curl them one last time, experimentally, and felt Erik pull taut against him.

“You okay, still?” he asked.

“Nn,” Erik sighed, pushing his face into Eleven’s neck. His voice sounded as heavy and heated as the rest of him, and when he shifted slightly it was with a clear, restrained effort. “M’fine, I just— Goddess, El, you’re gonna make me come already and I don’t...don’t have the kinda stamina you do.”

That tore a snort from Eleven. When he felt Erik roll his head against his shoulder, he glanced at him to be met with that blue flame again, burning deep and hot in his eyes. Eleven felt himself begin to smoulder, too.

He couldn’t stop smiling, though. “You can just say you want me to fuck you now, you know.”

* * *

They had to change positions. Erik’s legs had sailed straight past cramp and on to numbness, and with how high and wide the throne’s backrest was, there was no way he could comfortably stretch his legs wide enough to get one on either side of it and remain seated facing his husband. He was proud of his flexibility, but there was a fine line between pride and stupidity...and dislocating your joints.

He found himself instead still seated in Eleven’s lap as before, but facing away from him now and supported by strong arms either side of his waist, hands feeling along the outsides of his thighs. Like this, he could kind of appreciate the appeal of sitting on a throne, with the wide view of the entire room spread out before him. 

But, he thought as Eleven slid his cock against the base of his spine, there was a certain seat he was about to appreciate far more, especially when his field of vision was abruptly cut off at either side by his own knees being hiked up from beneath, and then the throne room wasn’t the only thing that could be described as _spread_ or _wide_.

Erik felt Eleven’s stomach muscles tense at his back, and then he was being moved, haltingly and upwards. The sudden shift threw his balance off, and he teetered perilously. His hands shot out to grasp at whatever was nearest, fingers clasping around Eleven’s forearms.

Eleven chuckled against his neck and nosed into his hairline. His hands squeezed the undersides of Erik’s thighs where he had them braced to lift his slender husband into position. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

Erik huffed, embarrassed, “I know.” His grip loosened, but his hands stayed where they were. “You’ve never dropped me so far, I didn’t think you were gonna start now.”

Eleven laughed again, bright and delighted, and then he was lowering Erik again. 

At first, Erik felt nothing but his own slow descent; and then, all at once, a bulbous pressure against his hole, hot and thick and trying to push into him. His stomach flipped - it felt too big, it always did - but he swallowed a breath and calmed his thundering heart, letting himself go lax in Eleven’s arms.

It wasn’t too big. It never was. He opened for Eleven’s cock like he had been shaped just for that purpose, each inch sinking into him easier than the last until he was placed gently back atop Eleven’s thighs and stuffed to the brim. 

His breath came in short pants like there was no space for it inside him, like he was so full of cock there was no way he could make room for something as insignificant as _oxygen_. He glanced down, taking in the sight of his legs akimbo and his cock standing proud and twitching between them, precum beading on the tip. If he strained forward a little, he could see his hole stretched around Eleven’s length where he was sheathed in him, balls deep and completely still to wait for him to adjust. (He _had_ adjusted, he wanted to say, feel free to pound him mercilessly now, thanks, but all that came out when he opened his mouth was a tiny whimper.)

He also imagined - or perhaps it wasn’t imagination but _truth_ , since Eleven was _big_ and Erik had always had a slender build - that he could see a slight bump in his stomach, a distention from this new angle and from Eleven’s girth being plunged so deep into him. And that made his insides do funny things - hot, clenching, churning things that sent his body trembling and his cock throbbing - to think that he could be so _visibly_ affected by the act of being fucked by his husband. It was as if Eleven was saying _look, Erik, look what I can do to you_.

What Eleven actually said was, “Goddess above, Erik, you feel so good.”

His voice was a rumbling purr that started in his chest, vibrating up the space between Erik’s shoulder blades until it formed into words that rolled heavy across his tongue, breathy vowels between sharp, guttural consonants poured out into the space behind Erik’s ear.

Erik shuddered. Even that was enough for Eleven’s cock to shift inside him, dragging thick and slow against his walls.

“Fuck me, then,” he said.

(It would take Erik a few minutes to fully understand the reality of his demand.)

Eleven’s hands gripped the undersides of his thighs again, gave a slight grunt, and then Erik was being lifted once more, just as slowly as he’d been set down.

Instantly, he drew in a breath that hissed through his teeth where he’d clamped them together. Eleven’s cock leaving his body was just as maddening as having it enter him. The size of it, the angle, the languidness of the action - they all knotted together into a tight, boiling coil in Erik’s stomach. He felt his nails dig into Eleven’s arms, felt his legs tense and tremble in his husband’s grip, felt sure he was about to lose himself already, embarrassingly hard and fast—

And then he stopped moving, and remembered to breathe out again, and felt nothing but the swollen, throbbing head of Eleven’s cock still inside him.

(In all honesty that was almost enough - he was still stretched wide around it, and the sudden vacancy was such a sharp contrast to how full he’d felt mere moments before that he was tempted to just let himself go, to unravel in Eleven’s arms and be suspended there, rising and falling and sated, until Eleven unravelled too.

But he already knew that wouldn’t be enough to sate him. Not truly.)

“ _El_ ,” he whined. He squirmed, curling and uncurling his toes.

Eleven kissed the back of his neck, reverent, and then lowered him again. It was much faster this second time, and Erik moaned and pressed himself back against Eleven’s chest.

The third thrust was much the same. And the fourth. And so it continued, and so Erik realised, the force of his epiphany much the same as the force of Eleven hitting his prostate: he could do very little about his current situation.

Crammed into Eleven’s lap as he was, with his legs held wide and rigid by strong arms on either side of him and a broad chest supporting his back, Erik had very little free axis of movement. He couldn’t even move his hips enough to try and grind down against Eleven’s thrusts. He was, for all intents and purposes, stuck where he was. Trapped, seized, _restrained_ almost, unable to do much but claw at his husband’s arms and tip his head back against Eleven’s shoulder, exposing his neck in an invitation his obscenely loud mouth couldn’t quite form the words of.

Eleven took him up on it anyway. Erik moaned again, utterly delighted.

* * *

It was easy for Eleven to fall into a rhythm. Erik was warm in his arms and moulded to the shape of him, and Eleven could lift him like he weighed nothing only to slam him back down again, his cock hitting deep inside him with every thrust.

Erik babbled senselessly, his head thrashing side to side, nails branding half-crescents into the skin of Eleven’s arms, “Hn, ah, f-fuck, El—”

Eleven paused in making marks of his own, ghosting his lips across the cluster of love bites he had sucked into Erik’s neck before he asked, “Still good?” 

He lifted Erik once more, leaving him suspended on nothing but the secure grip of his hands and the wet, pulsing head of his cock.

Erik wriggled and whined. Eleven held him tighter, wondering for a moment if his fingertips would leave a little pattern of bruises on Erik’s thighs when they were done. 

Erik weakly thrust his head back, another sound of impatience leaving his lips. His hands left Eleven’s arms then, reaching up and behind him instead in search of something better to grip. What he found was Eleven’s hair, and he grabbed fistfuls of it while he twisted his own head to the side to give Eleven a perfect view of his flushed cheeks.

Eleven leaned down to kiss one of those cheeks, the heat radiating from Erik’s skin making his dry lips sting, but then Erik pulled his hair again and he winced.

“Erik,” he chided, giving his legs a squeeze. “Put your hands somewhere else.”

Erik groused again, but his fingers loosened obediently.

“Why don’t you touch yourself for me?” Eleven suggested, his voice dipping low and private. They had all the privacy of a barred door and a huge room to themselves, but there was something about the intimacy of the request that made him hush himself automatically.

Erik had no such qualms, loudly groaning what Eleven assumed was his agreement. He was proven right a moment later, when Erik’s hands left his hair altogether to settle on his own rapidly rising and falling chest. Then, almost shyly, one strayed away, and Erik took one of his nipples between his thumb and forefinger. He pinched, gentle at first and then a little harder, and couldn’t quite muffle the small noise of pleasure he made at his own actions.

“Good,” Eleven praised. As he spoke he thrust back into Erik again, but slow, like he was savouring it. He breathed out at the same time Erik did, as if they were both sighing in relief, in unison. He kept the deliberate pace until he was fully immersed inside Erik again, and then he stilled. He swallowed, trying to calm the relentless, pulsating feeling inside him, matching time with the throbbing of his cock inside Erik. He wouldn’t last much longer. Pressing a kiss to the back of Erik’s neck once more, he asked sweetly, “Why don’t you touch yourself somewhere else, too?”

Erik whimpered and writhed, and whimpered again when that just made Eleven’s cock press further inside him. “I-I’ll come,” he said, and Eleven had the vague notion it was supposed to be some sort of protest.

“That was the idea.” Another kiss to Erik’s neck. His smiling lips vibrated along the skin with the force of Erik’s trembling shoulders. He tilted his hips up and forward, encouraging Erik to take him impossibly deeper. Then, in a whisper, “I’m gonna come soon, too.”

That was all it took. Like Eleven had given him permission, Erik reached down and wrapped shaking fingers around his cock. It jumped in his hand, and he watched himself rub his thumb over the tip and spread his precome over the shaft without fully being aware he was doing it.

He could feel it, though. Oh, he could _feel_ it.

He really wasn’t going to last, especially not when Eleven was grinding incessantly at his deepest parts, especially not when Eleven let go of one of his legs to wrap an arm across his stomach instead, especially, _especially_ not when Eleven was holding him in place like that and pressing gently against his abdomen, against that weakening dam that was just about to burst—

Eleven’s cock shoved against his prostate and Erik came with a high, wild shout; one last bright, brilliant flare before he was extinguished just as quickly. He didn’t even see his seed spill into his fist before his eyes were falling closed, and he sagged back against Eleven’s chest, utterly spent.

The sound of his climax travelled around the room and back to his ears, echoing clear as a bell until it was as though a dozen Eriks had just had a dozen orgasms all at the same time.

 _Heh, if only Divide worked like that_ , he found himself thinking, grinning stupidly.

It didn’t take long for Eleven to follow him, only stopping for a moment to ask, “Inside?” (“Inside,” Erik agreed with tired enthusiasm) before he went rigid at Erik’s back, his arm near crushing the air from his lungs and his hips giving one final thrust that had Erik lifting into the air along with them.

His orgasms were always much quieter - Erik had come to accept that he was just a noisy fuck, he supposed - and so Eleven pressed his nose into Erik’s hair and gave a groan that was little more than a sigh as he came, spilling hot and deep inside his husband.

* * *

When he had relaxed, and collapsed back against the cushioned throne, he let go of Erik aside from a light hold on his hips.

Erik wriggled. “You better not get hard again,” he said, breathless. “I don’t think I can go another round after all.”

Eleven laughed. It came out a tired, sated wheeze, like his lungs were just as exhausted as the rest of him suddenly felt.

“At least not until we get back to our room,” Erik added.

Eleven laughed again, and Erik joined in. The two of them fell into silly, gasping giggles, barely even pausing when Eleven conjured up his waning strength to lift Erik off his softening cock. He rearranged him more comfortably in his lap again, sideways across his thighs with his legs hanging over one of the armrests like before. 

Again, Erik’s fingers found their way back to Eleven’s hair, but this time they stroked through it with a lazy tenderness, loosening the tie and coaxing the strands out of their braid proper to cascade across Eleven’s shoulders instead. (He had wiped his dirtied hand off on Eleven’s shirt, an act which had earned him a disapproving look...but Eleven had still let him wind that same hand into his hair afterwards, so evidently he didn’t mind _too_ much.)

Fingernails scratching gently along the soft hairs at Eleven’s neck, Erik tugged him forward and into a kiss. It was a warm and soft thing; the fire that had raged between them dying back to embers and leaving the atmosphere languid and cosy.

They could have gone on kissing like that for hours, no doubt, if Erik hadn’t suddenly remembered something. His eyes snapped open and he pinched the back of Eleven’s neck to get him to stop kissing him, scrambling away from his lips.

Eleven looked invitingly dazed at the sudden refusal, watching Erik through half-lidded eyes as he reached down between his legs. “Erik…? What’re—”

“I didn’t bring anything to clean up with,” Erik explained, and all at once it hit Eleven that he was _scooping up the spend that was dripping back out of him._ “I don’t think Rab would approve of us getting cum on the throne.”

He had that smile again, the impudent one, and Eleven couldn’t resist his own fond quirk of the lips, even as he snorted and rolled his eyes at his husband’s shameless attitude.

But then Erik raised his hand to his mouth, and Eleven’s face fell. “E-Erik—”

Erik met Eleven’s eyes and didn’t look away. Not even when he stuck his tongue out and slowly, deliberately, licked Eleven’s spend from his fingers. Not even when Eleven went still and swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing temptingly.

Erik swallowed too, licking his lips in an exaggerated manner. Smiling sweetly, he said, “Yes, love?”

Eleven stared a minute longer, looking from Erik’s (now clean) hand to his lips, to his twinkling blue eyes, and back again. “Erik,” he said. “That’s...gross.”

“It’s no more gross than you nutting in my mouth,” Erik countered, stretching in Eleven’s lap.

Eleven’s mouth opened and closed repeatedly, though no sound came out. (Erik thought he bore some resemblance to the little purple fish the queen of Nautica seemed to have a fondness for turning him into.) “That’s…” he said finally, “that’s different. _That_ ,” he gestured, and Erik grinned, “is weird.”

“Oh, you wanna talk weird?” Erik’s smile turned sharp and knowing. “How about that time I went on vacation with Mia for a week before she started school and came back to you having caused the Drasilian potato famine?”

Eleven went red instantly. “That wasn’t—I—it wasn’t a _famine_.”

“It was almost a famine.”

“I just…I read that eating raw potatoes helped to stave off...urges.” His blush darkened.

Erik giggled and leaned up to nose against his jaw. His hands found their way back into Eleven’s hair again, kneading softly at his scalp, and he made a pleased sound when he wasn’t immediately swatted away for shoving his previously cummy hand anywhere near the prince’s precious locks. “Well I don’t think it worked, with how you _attacked_ me as soon as I got home. Honestly, it’s a good thing I’m here to help with your _urges_ , or Dundrasil would have no fresh crops left.”

That sent Eleven giggling too, his embarrassment fizzling away as Erik pecked kisses along his jawline. He twisted his head so their noses bumped, their sniggers quieting as their lips met again and Eleven was forced to taste himself on Erik’s tongue. (It...wasn’t the most pleasant of tastes. But Erik seemed to like it well enough.)

A loud rapping at the door had them springing apart like teenagers caught fooling around.

Eleven’s hands went to his chest like some sort of poor attempt to cover himself (and a misplaced one, since his dick was still very much on display). 

Erik stood, wobbling on shaky legs. The sight of him standing completely naked before the prince of Dundrasil’s throne was somehow the most comical thing Eleven had ever seen, but the amused smile had barely graced his lips before it was forced away and replaced by a horrified grimace as their interrupter unveiled themselves.

“El?” Rab’s voice was muffled through the thick wood of the door and the distance between it and the throne - but he was still a king, he knew how to project, and the question came through loud and clear. “Are ye there, laddie? I dinnae wish to disturb ye, but some of the diplomats were wanting to wish you and Erik goodnight afore they turned in…”

Eleven stopped still where he’d been scrambling to button his shirt up. His grandfather seemed to possess endless wisdom, and he suddenly had the awful, soul-crushing feeling that that wisdom included knowing exactly what the two of them had been up to in the throne room.

“C-Coming!” he called, his voice cracking and awkward.

“You just did,” Erik remarked. “Twice.”

Eleven narrowed his eyes. “ _Shut up_.”

Erik stuck out his tongue, yanking his trousers on. “Make me.”

“I’ll _make you_ regret those _words_ , Erik.”

“Not as much as you’ll be regretting everything when you have to carry your poor, ravished husband out of here looking like this.” Erik gestured at himself: his trousers, up but unfastened, and his lack of underwear revealing a startling amount of penis; his top half bare and his neck littered with obvious hickeys. He mimed a swoon, grinning wickedly, but there was a very real, noticeable tremor in his knees. _Oh_.

“ _Please_ don’t,” Eleven said, exasperated. “I’d prefer if my coronation wasn’t suddenly moved forward because you made my granddad have a heart attack.”

That sent Erik into peals of laughter again, and again it echoed around and around them until it became lost in the high ceilings and trampled into the plush carpets, kept there forevermore with the rest of the throne room’s dirty little secrets.

**Author's Note:**

> apparently i just can't write smut without it being over 10k words anymore, oops.
> 
> thanks to [dragonquesttbh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonquesttbh), the official alternate title for this fic is "Royally Fucked." it was so good i couldn't _not_ mention it!  
> also thanks to [LunarExo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunarExo) as always for being my muse for this fic (and most of my fics!) and for inspiring more and more silly and/or hot ideas that made it into the fic (you can thank them for the potato famine part, as well as erik's tummy bulge). <3 and also read all their fics if you haven't already!
> 
> thank you for reading, i hope you enjoyed! come yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/QueenNeehola)!


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